


Every time you walk out that door.

by Pixeltasumi



Category: DCU
Genre: Anxiety, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Unhealthy Relationships, Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 11:02:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14932994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixeltasumi/pseuds/Pixeltasumi
Summary: Jason suffers from PTSD and finds comfort in adrenaline highs. Tim can’t handle the worries that comes with that.





	Every time you walk out that door.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sad story, I’m warning you.

There it was again. That recognizable click of the front door shutting close carefully as someone sneaked out. Had it perhaps closed regularly, or even slammed shut, then maybe Tim wouldn’t have woken up by it. But it was oh so familiar by now that he could not do anything other than open his eyes to find the space next to him empty. A familiar warmth ghosting the white bedsheets left behind, the silence of the apartment just a bit too loud.

Tim turned over till he was laying on his back and stared at the rooftop. He wasn’t sleepy any more. It was the middle of the night, but Tim’s heart felt like it was in the middle of a car chase. Whatever calm that had resided within him was now gone, and left was emptiness and lack of sound filling it. There were the flickers of streetlights shimmering through the closed curtains and Tim sat up, letting the covers fall down and drape his bare legs. He looked around to ensure himself that he was still in his apartment and his hand went to the spot next to him, to ensure him of the warmth that still lingered. That it was still there. That was still alive. 

The wooden floors creaked ever so slightly as he got up and he spotted himself in the reflection of the bathroom mirror. His hair was messy from earlier night escapades and sleep ran heavy over him. His bare body was pale, so the purple marks over his neck and throat stood out even in the dark. Just as the half moons under his eyes. They were also several shades darker than his own skin colour. 

The cool air of the apartment was getting to him, so he proceeded to dress himself in a pair of boxers, a hoodie and sweats. Then he resumed to the routine of pacing around the kitchen as the coffee pot began its nightly shore. The familiar noise of the brew finishing was what broke his race track pattern movement and he grabbed for his mug. He filled it to the tip, till it spilled over and he just watched. He watched as the kitchen counter became tainted with the brown liquid and then he stared. He wasn’t sure at what, but at some point the coffee reached his fingertips that had been resting on the counter as well. It burned, and just as the clicking of the coffee machine, this snapped him out of his haze. He cleaned up and perched himself in the window, cracking it open and looking out over the city. 

Waiting. 

It was a cool summer night, the city noise joining him as he sat there sipping his coffee. There were no stars. There were never stars in Gotham. And had there ever been, Tim had not seen them. There were helicopters and planes, skyscrapers and telephone poles. 

The red biker helmet was missing from its usual place on the small table in the hallway. Along with it seemed to have gone keys, a leather jacket and boots. 

And then all there was to it was waiting. 

Jason didn’t come home till around five am. The sun was now peaking over the city and Tim was sitting at the kitchen table instead. Jason came walking in, closing the door in a overly careful motion and placing the helmet on its regular place, also too carefully. It didn’t suit his big build. It looked weird. Even though Jason wasn’t a loud person at home, he wasn’t this careful. 

He turned around and his face fell once he saw Tim over in the joint living space and kitchen area. Instead of taking of his shoes off in the same calm manner, he now kicked them off as usual. 

“I tried not to wake you.” he said with small look of guilt as he chucked off the worn jacket as well. 

“I know.” Tim stated and remained at the table. The coffee cup in between his hands was half empty, having been refilled several times already. “Did you take the bike?” 

“Yeah.” Jason walked over and grabbed for an apple on the counter, throwing it up into the air once before catching it and leaning against the counter opposite of Tim. 

“Did you go on the highway again?” Tim asked and remained calm, composed as he observed Jason. 

“Yeah.” Jason averted his gaze and answered blankly. He didn’t eat the apple, instead his hands were turning it around in an excuse of observing it. 

“Jason-” Tim began but was cut off.

“I’m sorry Tim.” Jason said and looked up with a hurt look in his eyes. He didn’t want Tim to look at him like that and Tim knew that. Jason hated when Tim said his name in that exasperated tone, coated in long sleepless nights, empty bed sheets and soundless voids. 

He walked up to Tim and took the coffee cup out of his hands, between his knees. He placed it on the table and grabbed for his partner’s hands in the same motion. 

“Can we talk about it later?” He stroke through Tim’s hair and over his temple, down to his cheekbones. “I just want to go to bed right now.” He gave a week sigh. 

And no matter how much Tim wanted to resist it - to lean back and say ‘No we have to talk _now_ , Jason’... he couldn’t. His body betrayed him as he leaned in and closed his eyes, the touch so gentle and sweet that Tim couldn’t do other than accept and comply to it. 

And so he did. He allowed Jason to lead them both back to the now completely cold bed sheets, he allowed himself to look away from the mirror hanging in the bathroom, he allowed himself to strip down again and to be enveloped in skin, hair and lips. _Just one more night._

But the nights that followed were no stranger. Tim awoke to the click of the front door, the warmth next to him dying, the cold floorboard beneath his feet as he made his way out to the kitchen, the shadow of himself in the bathroom mirror, the sickening feeling that grew within with each minute that the door didn’t open to reveal a tall man with a white streak of hair, broad shoulder, leather jacket and army boots. 

He didn’t take his bike all nights. Some nights the helmet and bike keys were still left behinds. But those nights were really no better.

It had been like this for some time now. Ever since Jason came back. Ever since the two of them were blessed with a second chance. Well not ever since then. At first it had been alright. There had been many nightmares of course. A lot of late night talks, holding each other, watching the sun rise and wash away the shadows along with it. 

But then it changed. And the nightmares were replaced by other things. Jason disappeared more and more. Waking up to the front door closing became routine. Watching the sun rise alone became routine. But for the shadows to wash away, that did not become routine. Perhaps for Jason, who had turned his attention elsewhere. He now sought out dangers in ways that Tim could never understand. All for that high of adrenaline. 

Tim imagined it was like falling. You experienced such a sudden rush of adrenaline, a very immediate feeling of being alive. To face death so closely that you could never feel more alive. Perhaps that could make sense. But Tim still couldn’t quite grasp it. He tried though. 

As he sat at the kitchen table and looked out, waiting for a call, for someone to knock on the door or for an explosion to erupt in pits of the city - all to tell him that Jason wasn’t there anymore; he tried to understand. He really did. 

\---

“How are you doing, Tim?” Dick spoke softly from his seat across of Tim at the crowded outdoors cafe. 

There were shoppers passing on the other side of the caffe fence, all laughing and chatting, enjoying the rare sunshine of Gotham. Tim, however, wore sunglasses for other reasons. His headache was killing him and he was dousing himself in caffeine. There was a large cup of it in front of him and his fingers were tapping against the porcelain as he was chatting with his table mate. 

It was obvious that Dick had been waiting for a chance to ask this question. And when none had presented itself, he’d just thrown it out there. And Tim played along. 

“I’m fine.” Tim said with a unreadable expression as he sipped his coffee. “Never better, really.”

Dick looked at him incredulously and put down the biscuit he’d been holding. Crumbs of it falling down to the table or the floor, giving Tim something to observe that wasn’t Dick’s pitying eyes. 

“How about Jason, is he doing okay?” 

“We’re working on it.” Tim gave a short smile, thankful for his glasses because he wasn’t sure that the smile would have reached much further.

“He’s still going out at night?” Dick asked and crossed his arms as he leaned back. 

Dick had been there during the first parts of it all. When it had been less on the downlow. When they had gone out looking for Jason. Dick had been there to help when Jason was hammered and beaten up outside a bar. He’d helped Tim carry Jason home, ignored the mumbles of apologies and instead helped Jason wash up as Tim got rid of the blood that’d been dragged over the hallway floor. He had come back out when Jason was in bed. He’d helped Tim calm down. Helped him to stop shaking, to start understanding. 

And he’d been there again. 

When Jason crashed his bike for the first time, unharmed, thank god. When Jason had taken on some street thugs all by himself. When Jason had been gone for three days without a trace. 

When Jason became happier. When he started smiling more. When he started living more. Living a bit too much. 

“He’s… fine.” Tim smiled and gave Dick a nodd.

Then his eyes returned out to the streets. 

\---

Alone, again. Over the floorboards, again. Kitchen window, again. Kitchen table, again. 

But this time, no one came home. 

Tim sat glued to the table for hours, but no one came home. 

It wasn’t the first time, he kept reminding himself; just to stay sane. He’d gone away for a few days once. But that time it had been bad. He’d been outside the city when Tim found him. Dick had come to help, and not even him had been able to keep a calm face. 

Tim wanted to understand. He wanted to see Jason happy. But this, this was torture. Just one more night had been going on for too many nights. 

His phone didn’t ring. The door didn’t knock. And the city didn’t blow up. But, somehow, that was even worse. The day dragged out. The sun not only peaked over the city, it rose above, hanging aloft for painfully long till it was being pulled back down again. All the time, Tim stared at the phone, the door, the window, and then hit repeat. Every now and then he got up to pace, but then he found another resting place to sit and stare. 

It wasn’t till a couple of hours into the next darkness that there was a click. Heavy boots hit the hallway floor. There was a bump, and then another. Then the footsteps were lighter.

Tim was on his feet, leaning against the kitchen counter where his hands were gripping the edge and his knuckles were turning white, waiting for the footsteps to turn corner and reveal themselves in the kitchen. But they didn’t. There was a halt in the steps, and then they continued away. There was a light creak of a door and then another click. Another door, the bedroom door. 

Tim stared. The apartment just as dark as before, just as silent. Seemingly, just as empty. 

_Just one more night._

_No._

He walked with brisk steps, turned the corner of the kitchen and slammed the bedroom door wide open. The door hit the wall next to it and Tim was pretty sure the handle broke it, because there was a crack going through the air. He stood at the opening of the door, looking over at a Jason who was about to undress next to the dresser. 

He looked startled at first, arms frozen and crossed over his stomach, fingers gently wrapped around the bottom of his t-shirt. Then the surprise was replaced by a tired expression. It wasn’t so much guilt anymore as it seemed to be just exhaustion at the mere thought of the subject. He pulled the shirt over his head and ignored the staring Tim in the frame of the door. After having ruthlessly calmly put away the shirt and grabbed for a hoodie instead, he turned to Tim with a low smile. 

“Can we talk about it tomorrow?” 

Tim shook his head slowly and stared. He couldn’t do just one more night. No more of waking up pretending that just hours ago they hadn’t been in this exact position. To go through their day as if things were fine, as if life during the darker hours didn’t count. As if looking away was enough. No more.

“I can’t wait till tomorrow, Jason.” He said feeling his words heavy and thick. It was harder than he’d thought. 

“But we’ve had this talk, Tim.” Jason sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, stretching it as he walked over towards the bathroom. 

“No we haven’t. Not this talk.” Tim followed and stood at the door, observing as Jason grabbed for his toothbrush. He wondered if he’d been drinking. He couldn’t smell it at least. 

“What do you mean?” Jason turned and leaned against the faucet. He looked worn down, and yet so alive in some way that made this ten times harder for Tim. 

“I need to do this. I can’t not.” He pleaded to his partner that was still rooted at the doorframe of the bathroom. “And I’ve never gotten hurt bad, it’s not like I’m risking my life.” he snorted. 

“But you are.” Tim said and bit down over his tongue before continuing. “Where were you today?”

Jason sighed and began brushing his teeth. “Out drinking with friends.”

“For twenty four hours?” 

“Was I out that long?” Jason brushed it off with a low laugh and spit into the sink. “Guess I forgot about time.”

“Are you cheating on me?”

Jason choked. He coughed into the sink before wiping his mouth with his hand and turning around with a hurtful expression. 

“No!” he exclaimed and looked at Tim as if he was crazy to suggest so. “How could you even think that, I love you Tim.” He walked up to Tim, hurt in his eyes that was mixing with worry. 

But Tim wasn’t as rooted anymore, he backed up now and felt his face blaze hot and eyes burn. “I don’t know, you tell me Jason.” He jabbed at the other, twice the amount of hurt in his own eyes now. “You leave every night, doesn’t tell me where you go or when you’ll be back.” He glared and shook his head in disbelief as he wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “You tell me what I should think.” 

Jason took a step forwards but Tim retaliated by stepping back and shaking his head. He looked crestfallen as he stared at his partner that was now shunning away from his touch. 

“You know it’s not like that.” He close to whispered. “I… I have to feel _something_.” His eyes were looking down at his hands. Small scars from all kinds of activities painting them.

“And I’m not enough.” Tim stated and pursed his lips, taking a deep breath as he looked away, trying to steady his eyes.

“Tim…”

“I can’t live like this.” Tim shook his head and went for the bedside drawer, pulling out his wallet. It hadn’t left that place for two days. He had not left the apartment for two days. 

“Tim, I’ve told you that you don’t have to worry about me.” Jason pleaded.

But Tim continued and moved over to the closet where he pulled out a traveling bag. “Well it isn’t so much a choice, is it?” Tim threw the bag over the dresser and began pulling out clothes, throwing it inside and ignoring the mess he was creating. 

He felt and hand around his wrist stopping him and he instantly retracted it with enough force to break the grip and also stumble back.

“Please don’t do this, Tim.” Jason stood beside him and his voice was no longer as strong as he was used to it being. It was becoming scarily familiar to that voice Tim had woken up to screaming and yelling in the middle of the night. When no sleep was related to bad dreams, not a bad reality. 

It hurt. It hurt Tim in a way he’d never expected it to. That life had the audacity to throw this at them. That anything had ever dared to take Jason away to start with. Break him apart and put him together, but not fully healed and missing pieces. Pieces Tim had been contributing with. And it had been enough in the beginning, but not anymore. And that made him mad.

“Don’t do _what!?_ ” Tim shouted, ignoring possible neighbours or those who might pass by, under their open kitchen window. “Walk out that door? Why not Jason? You do it every _goddamn_ night!” Tim’s eyes were strained from holding back tears, but he didn’t let them pour over him just yet. “What’s so different when I do it?” Tim poked Jason’s chest. 

And a poke turned into a shove, which turned into a jab, and before he knew it he was standing in front of the other, ready to hit Jason. 

But he didn’t. 

“Every time you walk out that door,” he took a shaky breath, tears flooding down his face as he pointed angrily towards the front door. “I am _terrified_.” 

Jason looked at him with such sorrow that Tim wanted to punch him again. That anyone dared to feel sad except him made him angry. That Jason dared to show any remorse made him angry. 

“I don’t know _when_ you’ll be back or _if_ you’ll be back.”

“Tim…”

“No!” Tim pushed Jason back. “You might have lost yourself somewhere along all of this,” He shook his head, fear flooding over him. “But I also lost you Jason.” He sniffled and bit his lip. “You were _dead_.” He sobbed and his face twisted, tears streaming down it. “You were _dead_ and _I lost you_.”

This time, Tim didn’t push Jason aside. And he didn’t feel like hitting him as a pair of familiarly warm arms wrap around him. His face buried itself without permission into the others chest. Thankful for the fact that it didn’t smell of alcohol. It didn’t smell of someone else. It didn’t smell of blood. It was just Jason tonight. 

“I can’t lose you again…” He whispered.

The apartment wasn’t as cold anymore, but the sheets remained untouched. The silence was broken by two chairs being pulled out from the kitchen table and the clicking of the coffee pot wasn’t what pulled Tim out of his haze. Their hands went from supporting one another and gesturing in the air as it began. 

But when the sun once again peaked over the city there was no need for a phone call, a knock on the door or an explosion. 

And slowly, the clicking of the door faded and routines changed. The shadows could once again be washed away in the company of another.


End file.
